


Letters Never Sent

by gabrielsangel



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 13:09:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7893856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielsangel/pseuds/gabrielsangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Holmes had indeed written letters to Watson during the Great Hiatus, but had never found the courage to send them? How will Watson react, when he finally has a chance to read these letters never sent?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Letters Are Received

_"Several times during the last three years I have taken up my pen to write to you, but always I feared lest your affectionate regard for me should tempt you to some indiscretion which would betray my secret."_

(The Adventure of the Empty House)

 

As a regular reader of these memoirs you might be acquainted with a character trait of my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, for despite his astounding intellectual powers the detective often showed great deficiencies in the area of emotional displays of any kind. More than once in our long and intimate relationship I reproached the detective for acting like an automaton; during the case I have entitled "The Sign of The Four" I even went so far as to call him a cold, calculating machine, completely devoid of emotion.

However, in the early autumn of 1896, more than two years after his miraculous return to life and London, a nearly fatal encounter during a case prompted my friend to reveal more of his feelings to me than ever before.

The horrors of the case concerning mauled cadavers and superstitions of Werewolves are still too vivid in my mind for me to give a full account on paper to my readers.

Holmes and I returned home to 221B Baker Street in an icy silence after the case for whose conclusion I had been absent, because Holmes had sent me on a wild goose chase in order to face the dangers on his own. The result was that the culprit had been arrested, but my friend had sustained a serious injury, which he, to my great chagrin had neglected to tell me about. Holmes left it to the local police surgeon to inform me that he had been bitten by a supposedly rabid dog prior to the arrest. A post-exposure treatment had been administered, but I would have to keep an eye on him for any adverse reactions. Against my better judgement Holmes then had insisted on returning to London by the next available train and that is why we arrived home in the early hours of the evening of that eventful day.

Our dear landlady, Mrs. Hudson, had left the week of our departure for a visit at her niece's house and had still not returned, so that we were obliged to fend for ourselves. As neither of us was particularly hungry, we directly ascended the stairs to our shared sitting room where I lighted a fire while Holmes changed silently into his dressing gown, filled a pipe and curled up in his customary armchair. Thin arms firmly encircled the drawn-up knees, his entire posture thereby emanating a sense of being completely unapproachable.

Despite my reasonable anger at Holmes's irresponsible handling of the case, as a doctor and friend, I still felt that I could not leave him to his own devices; it was for this reason that I took my bag and approached the still figure of my friend.

"Let me see your wound." I insisted quietly.

"I am fine." the detective replied tonelessly, staring into the fire.

"I shall be the judge of that, Holmes."

Finally my friend shifted his position to look up at me.

"I said I am fine, _Doctor_." he fairly spat at me, grey eyes gleaming ominously out of a too pale face.

At this rebuke my last vestiges of control evaporated and I snapped right back in a voice laced with anger and hurt,

"Is it too far beneath you to behave like a human being for once, Holmes? Do you have any idea how worried I have been, when I realized you were off to face Morrison all by yourself? And then to find out that my worries had been justified? You could have been killed."

"But I wasn't. And I needed you to be out of harm's way." he replied coolly.

"It should have been _my_ decision. But you'd rather decide for me…just like at the Reichenbach Falls…I'd wager you never even thought about how I felt all those long years that I thought you were _dead_ !"

My voice broke at the end of the last sentence. Feeling dejected, hurt and somewhat angry at that moment I turned away from Holmes. Then I more limped than walked to my desk - for my old wound did not take too kindly to the strain the day had inflicted upon it - in order to put away my medical bag before heading upstairs to my bedroom.

I had not heard Holmes move until I found him standing before me, effectively blocking the door to the staircase. He clutched a folder against his chest, the long, thin fingers of his hand slightly trembling; his breathing was laboured from the exertion. The penetrating gaze of the familiar grey eyes arrested my attention, I felt like a specimen in a jar which my friend was endeavouring to identify and I began to feel uncomfortable under his close scrutiny. He seemed to seize me up; he was obviously weighing the pros and cons of an important matter in his mind so much so that I could identify the very moment when he finally reached a decision. His eyes, surrounded by dark circles, widened for a second and with a sardonic twitch of his thin lips he fairly threw the file at me.

"They are addressed to you...You may as well read them." he remarked in a casual manner.

"If you will excuse me now, I feel quite faint…It seems as if the treatment is not much better than the illness."

Without uttering another word Holmes turned and made his way over to his bedroom; midway he stumbled slightly. Alarmed by this sudden weakness I rushed forward to help him only to be rejected by a raised hand.

"No!" he exclaimed hoarsely without looking at me.

With some trepidation I watched my friend enter his bedroom and close the door behind him with an audible click. However he did not turn the key evidently trusting me to leave him to himself.

Despite my anger of earlier, I dearly hoped that Holmes would allow his clearly exhausted body some sorely needed rest.

It was then that I turned my attention back to the folder; it had fallen to the floor due to my haste in wishing to provide assistance to my friend. I picked it up and settled in my chair beside the fire, my curiosity piqued.

Although Holmes more than once had chastised me for my lack of ability in the area of deductive reasoning even I could see that the file in my hands had seen many different climates and could tell a story of its own.

It was a slim folder made of common cardboard; which was undulated and with its edges chafed so I was fairly certain it had been stored in places with high humidity. The formerly brown paper had also bleached to light beige which indicated long exposure to sunlight. It was stained in several places with dark splashes from ink and blurred brownish circles, probably from teacups. A piece of string held it closed. Gingerly I pulled at the knot and removed it. I hesitated, feeling unsure of myself.

I wondered what I would find in this article that Holmes had clearly guarded so carefully and for such a long time. Did I really want to know? Obviously Holmes intended me to read the contents, why then was I reluctant to do it? Was I afraid of what I might find?

Feeling suddenly undecided I turned the folder over in my hands. Sighing I laid it on my desk before pouring myself a glass of brandy. Deep in thought, I swirled the amber liquid around, but my gaze was inexplicably drawn to the mysterious file. After draining the glass with one gulp I welcomed the heat that spread throughout my body. The alcohol calmed my nerves and strengthened my resolve. Finally, I picked up the file, opening it on my lap with a feeling of reverence.

I found seven sheets made of different paper all covered in a cramped version of my friend's familiar handwriting. Some sheets looked the worse for wear with frayed edges and blotched ink stains. I picked up the topmost piece of paper and looked closer. When my eyes fell on the date in the upper right-hand corner my breath hitched and my heart skipped a beat. It read,

_"Florence,_ _May 11_ _th_ _, 1891"_


	2. Florence And Beyond

_"When my eyes fell on the date in the upper right-hand corner my breath hitched and my heart skipped a beat._  


_It read,_

_'Florence, May 11_ _th_ _, 1891'…"_

This meant Holmes had written the document a week after his "death" at the Reichenbach Falls. After forcing my lungs to work properly once more, I was able to continue.

>   
>  _My dearest Watson,_
> 
> _I hope you do not perceive this letter as the medium of a ghost come back from the grave to haunt you. You know I have never believed in such ridiculous things as ghost stories. Let me assure you therefore, that I am no spectre, but am indeed alive. I can imagine you have many questions about how and why I am still on this earth when I am supposed to have joined Professor Moriarty in the next life. There is no easy explanation for my actions following my encounter with the Professor, but I shall attempt to accomplish the task nevertheless._
> 
> _I knew what awaited me_ _when you were called away from my side to the supposedly dying English woman at our hotel and I must admit I was glad that you would not have to face the professor and very possibly become a witness to my death._
> 
> _As I had expected, the sinister figure of Moriarty stood in my way to safety_ _. He graciously allowed me to write the farewell note to you, my dear friend. He rushed at me, we fought and due to my knowledge in baritsu, he fell over the edge and plunged down into the gushing depths of the Falls. I watched as his body was thrown against the jagged face of the rocks until he finally landed at the bottom. It is a sight I shall never forget no matter how I should wish to. As I was myself spared his fate, I was now obliged to decide on a course of action._
> 
> _I knew there were more members of Moriarty's gang still at large who would seek me out to take revenge for their leader's death. I decided to let the world and thereby you, my dear friend, think that I_ _had also fallen into the abyss, until such a time as I could effect the arrest of the remaining criminals._
> 
> _How right I was in my reasoning, for it_ _proved the presence of Moriarty's second-in-command, a man named Colonel Sebastian Moran. He must have witnessed his leader's demise and my survival._
> 
> _When I watched your_ _hopeless search from my place on a ledge overhead and listened to your anguished cries, I nearly changed my mind. A thousand apologies, my dearest Watson, for this betrayal, but it was essential for your safety, which I value above all other things. Although I have not discovered any persuaders as of yet, I am quite certain, Moran will catch up with me sooner or later. If it means your continued safety that I have to run for the rest of my life then I will gladly do it._
> 
> _I still do not know where I will be heading to next. My brother, Mycroft, who is the only person in the world that knows I am still alive and who ensur_ _es my survival by sending me the money I need has yet to finalize arrangements for my travels while I remain in hiding._
> 
> _I know I will never send this letter, but it helped nonetheless to lighten my guilty conscience over hurting you so very deeply. I_ _hope you can forgive me someday when this dreadful business is over and I will be able to return to you._
> 
> _Believe me still to be yours,_
> 
> _Sherlock Holmes_

I let the letter sink down onto my lap from where it slipped silently to the floor landing on the hearthrug in front of my feet. Of course I was already familiar with the details of Holmes's survival at the dreadful chasm of the Reichenbach Falls for he himself had given me an account on his return from the "dead".

I most vividly recalled the feeling of shock at seeing my friend who I had thought lost forever, after three long years, resulting in the only fainting spell of my life. Soon after, joy and I must admit not a little hurt at his lack of confidence in me had replaced my initial incredulity.

Were I to be perfectly honest with myself, some small part of me could still not forgive Holmes for leaving me in the darkness for so long, adding to my resentment was the fact that Mycroft Holmes had known his younger brother to be alive and simultaneously could see the agony I felt over my friend's death, yet the elder Holmes stoically had kept his silence.

After rousing myself from this partly joyful and partly distressing complement of memories, I bent forward in order to pick up the first letter and put it back in the folder. Without further hesitation I continued with the second one.

> _On board_ _of the "Star of Delhi", June 21st_ _1891_
> 
> _My dear Watson,_
> 
> _I hope you are faring quite well. Mycroft has let_ _me know about the Memorial Service that was held in my honour. He tells me you are distraught with grief and self-reproach. I wish you would not blame yourself for something that was out of your hands. But if I have learnt anything about you in these years of our acquaintance, it is that you take such things as death greatly to heart._
> 
> _I wish I could let you know that I am still alive and quite well, but the danger is far too great. I also know that brother mine is truly not the best man to comfort you, he certainly would make a poor substitute as a friend, although he has promised me to keep an eye on you and on our Baker Street lodgings, for which I am grateful._
> 
> _I am finally out of hiding and on my way to Tibet. The forbidden land is so isolated from the rest of the world that Mycroft thought it the safest place for me at the present time. Besides, he has assigned me to gauge the political situation there, where Russia is trying to gain more influence. For this mission, I have created a new alter ego. I will take up the persona of a Norwegian Explorer by the name of Sigerson. This shall be the best performance of my life, which I will play until my death if necessary. I must admit that I take some comfort in the knowledge that you will be able to hear from me, if only indirectly when you read about Sigerson's explorations in the papers._
> 
> _Until we meet again,_
> 
> _Sherlock Holmes_

How very well I remembered the Memorial Service that had been held for my friend shortly after my return from the Continent. Since there had not been a body to be buried, the ceremony had simply been a gathering of people who wished to pay their respects to Holmes. It had been held at our old lodgings at 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson, who had been devastated by the news of my friend's death, had insisted upon organizing the entire ceremony.

Besides Mycroft Holmes, Mrs. Hudson, Mary and myself, Scotland Yard's inspectors Lestrade, Gregson, Bradstreet, Hopkins and Jones, who had all sought out my friend's advice in the past, had been in attendance. To my great surprise our former landlady had even allowed Wiggins and some of the other boys from the Baker Street Irregulars to take part.

We had sat around the fireplace on every available chair except Holmes's, which stayed empty as a matter of course. I could not bear to look at the portrait of the Reichenbach Falls over the fireplace, which had been framed by black ribbons; knowing that at the bottom of it, my best friend's body would lie forever together with that of his nemesis.

Everyone present had already spoken some words of praise for my friend and had shared some of their fondest memories. When it had been my turn, words had utterly failed me. I had been at a complete loss as to how to describe the feelings of grief and shock at that unfathomable situation.

The letter in my hand shook, my fingers were trembling from the resurfacing memories of that dreadful day. I went over to the cabinet to pour myself another brandy that would hopefully steady my nerves and help me get through the remaining letters, whose contents would surely evoke more painful reminiscences in me.

After I had sufficiently fortified myself, I stoked the dying embers in the grate and sat back down in my armchair in order to continue my perusal of Holmes's missives.


	3. Tibet

> _Lhasa, March 2nd, 1892_   
> 
> 
> _My dear Watson,_
> 
> _I owe you a thousand apologies for the long delay since my last letter._
> 
> _My journey to Tibet has been quite eventful. After my arrival in Delhi, I found out all too soon that Moran's henchmen were already on my trail. This forced me to risk the journey to the forbidden land earlier than I had at first anticipated._
> 
> _As a former soldier, who has spent some time in the mountains of Afghanistan, you can probably imagine the hardships of a trek across the mountains of the Himalaya. It was one of the most strenuous experiences of my life. Shortly before reaching our destination, our group was caught in an early winter storm; two guides and several animals died. I myself emerged from this ordeal suffering from severe hypothermia and frostbite._
> 
> _I remember next to nothing about the events that followed_ _. The surviving guides took care of me as best they could until we reached Tibet, where a Buddhist monk was generous enough to take me in. Thanks to him, I avoided developing pneumonia._
> 
> _I am told that I was delirious for nearly a week after emerging from the storm. Unfortunately my frail body betrayed me during this time in the way that I rambled about my latest experiences and revealed my real name to the monk. However he assures me, that no one will ever learn my secret from his lips. Oddly enough, I trust him completely._
> 
> _His name is_ _Lhamo_ _Thondup_ _. He is a man of middle height, with a shaved head and a pair of intelligent brown eyes behind a pair of glasses in a face that already shows some signs of middle age with slight crow's feet._
> 
> _We spend much time in long discussions about the evolvement of Buddhism, the different directions it took and the main schools that teach Buddhism. Thondup was quite impressed by my knowledge about Ceylon Buddhism. You may remember my lecture regarding this topic while we were on the trail of Jonathan Small and his little_ _Tonga._
> 
> _In my talks with Thondup I learn a great deal about Tibetan Buddhism. The ideal for any Buddhist is to achieve enlightenment or "Buddhahood" in order to be able to help other sentient beings attain the same state of mind. "Buddhahood" is sometimes defined as a state of omniscience for in Buddhist belief all things, even reality, are created by the mind._
> 
> _Don't you dare compare my brother Mycroft to a Buddha, although I must admit the resemblance is quite striking._
> 
> _When freed from all mental obscuration, one is said to attain a state of continuous bliss mixed with a simultaneous cognition of emptiness. I must admit that I not necessarily long for the bliss but rather for the emptiness. To be free of the ever-turning wheels in my mind at least temporarily would be more than I could ask for._
> 
> _Thondup also introduced me to different techniques of meditation in order to help me empty my mind._
> 
> _The first ste_ _p he calls "Analytic Meditation", it involves the thinking about what he has told me of the Buddhist teachings and it also allows me to entertain doubts and engage in internal debate about the things I have heard. I find this kind of meditation quite similar to the nights I spent in contemplation while being on a case._
> 
> " _Focussed Meditation" goes one step further. It leads to the mind being stabilised on a realisation reached during the analysis for periods long enough to gradually habituate to it. For this deepened meditation one has to reach a state of calm abiding or "Samadhi"._
> 
> " _Samadhi" comprises a style of Buddhist Meditation designed to enhance sustained voluntary attention, and culminates in an attention that can be sustained effortlessly and for hours on end, which leads to peace, for normally the mind is like a whirlwind of agitation, i.e. agitation of thought. Our thoughts are principally an obsessive concern with past, conceptualization about the present, and especially an obsessive concern with the future. This means that usually our mind is not experiencing the present moment at all._
> 
> _I must admit, that I find these practices quite useful and I am even able to stop my ever-working brain for short periods of time. I would even go as far as saying that I have found some small peace of mind._
> 
> _On a more worldly level, I have made some progress as well._
> 
> _After one of our_ _meditation sessions last week, Thondup introduced me to the Panchen Lama, Tenpai Wangchuk, who acts as a teacher and political guardian to the future Dalai Lama. The Dalai Lama is the spiritual and political leader in Tibet. The current Dalai Lama by the name of Thubten Gyatso is already acting as a spiritual deity, but until he comes of age he cannot act politically._
> 
> _The Panchen Lama showed a great interest in my reports about my travels. He also asked my opinion about the current power struggle between the British Empire and Imperial Russia in Asia.I worded my answer carefully of course since to him I am only a Norwegian explorer.After several conversations my impression is that he and most of the other monks want to avoid any involvement in the conflict, but I fear, sooner rather than later, this land and its people will become a playing field between the bigger nations and that they might be crushed in the process._
> 
> _Yesterday I had the honour of encountering the highest deity in Tibetan Buddhism._
> 
> _Thubten Gyatso, the 13_ _th_ _Dalai Lama himself, addressed me on one of my solitary walks through the gardens of Lhasa. He reacted to my ingrained formal behaviour of bowing with a smile and held out his hand in greeting. We shook hands and he immediately started on a foray, rapidly firing questions at me about my travels and my views on the world outside of Tibet in general._
> 
> _His Holiness is a young man of 16 years, but with the aura of a much older spirit. The eyes which were sparkling with curiosity also held an undertone of seriousness. It is my opinion that he is fully aware of the difficult times that lie ahead of him.Nonetheless I find him to be an intelligent youth with a great variety of interests aside from his spiritual duties. We talked about many different subjects, from 18_ _th_ _century music to the writings of Immanuel Kant. Our talk was quite refreshing and left me with an even greater regard for him.I hope I can help him in some small way to make the right decisions for his land and his people whose future I think is very likely to become deeply turbulent._
> 
> _I will do my utmost to help these people, who have done so much for me and who helped me to find some peace of mind. It is the least I can do for them as a means of repayment. Although I fear not even I can influence the machinations that are presently ensuing between the two great empires._
> 
> _I have an invitation to dinner with the Dalai Lama tonight, so I will finish this letter in the hope that you are faring as well as can be expected under the circumstances._
> 
> _Yours sincerely,_
> 
> _Sherlock Holmes_

I was surprised to find Holmes so expressively doubting his own abilities; he usually acted so self-assured that it boarded on arrogance. But I guess even he had felt quite overwhelmed by the enormous pressure from Great Britain and Russia on Tibet.

A church bell outside our lodgings struck the hour and jolted me from my musings. I glanced at my watch, it was midnight. With a weary sigh, I rubbed my tired eyes. When I got up out of my chair, I heard some pops from my stiff joints, which had been inactive for quite a long period of time. I walked quietly over to my friend's bedroom door, wanting to make sure he was alright.

The room lay in darkness, the only illumination being provided by the moonlight that came in through the window and fell in milky beams across the figure lying on the bed. The unbidden vision of an effigy on a tomb came to my mind as I saw Holmes in that particular position.

I tiptoed over and lighted a candle which stood on the bedside table.

I saw that the detective had merely taken off his dressing gown and trousers before going to bed. He was still clad in his shirtsleeves; the blanket barely covered his thin frame for it was lying halfway on the floor.

Upon closer scrutiny I found my friend to be sleeping fitfully, stirring uneasily in his slumber, the thick dark eyebrows were drawn together, thin hands grasping at the edges of the blanket, eyelids twitching erratically, while he was watching whatever images his subconscious mind was conjuring up for him.

I untangled the bedclothes and drew them up to his quivering shoulders. Then I proceeded to take his pulse, which I found to be steady and only slightly elevated. A sheen of moisture covered Holmes's high forehead. As I touched the skin, I diagnosed a slight fever, not dangerous but high enough to cause discomfort.

I hoped this was only a reaction to the post-exposure treatment or the overexertion during the latest case and not already an early sign of rabies.

Walking over to the washstand, I filled the basin with cool water from the ewer, fetched a washcloth and returned to my friend's bedside.

Before laying the cold compress I had swiftly prepared on my friend's forehead, I ran it carefully over the hollow cheeks and temples in order to wash away the sticky perspiration. At the touch of the cool cloth against his warm skin Holmes sighed softly and calmed visibly, falling back into a dreamless slumber.

I carefully removed the bandage from Holmes's arm to inspect the bite wound, wanting to make sure that everything was as it should be. The outline of the dog's teeth was still clearly visible, although the punctures looked to be free of infection.I breathed a heart-felt sigh of relief before applying some disinfectant and redressing the arm. The thought of a rabid Sherlock Holmes was more than I could handle at that moment.

I decided to keep watch over my friend for the rest of the night. I fetched the file from our sitting room and settled down in a comfortable chair that I had drawn up next to Holmes's bed. After exchanging the cold compress for a fresh one, I took up the next letter and immersed myself again in the past.


	4. Mecca And Khartoum

>   
>  _Mecca, July 9th, 1893_  
>  _My dear Watson,_
> 
> _I have finally left the secure mountains of Tibet and am on my way in a westward direction again._
> 
> _After a short stay in Persia, where I handled some important business_ _for brother mine, which I am under strict orders not to divulge to anyone, I wanted to reacquaint myself with Islam, another of the great world religions._
> 
> _In Bushehr I watched as large groups of Muslim pilgrims boarded ships that would bring them to Mecca for the annual pilgrimage, the Hajj._
> 
> _Partaking in this pilgrimage is an obligation that must be carried out at least once in their lifetime by every able-bodied Muslim that can afford to do so._
> 
> _The Hajj is associated with the life of the prophet Muhammad from the 7_ _th_ _century, but is considered to stretch back to the time of Ibrahim, or as he is known in Christianity, Abraham._
> 
> _It usually lasts from the 8_ _th_ _to the 12_ _th_ _day of Dhu al-Hijjah, the 12_ _th_ _month of the Islamic Calendar, which is calculated by the lunar phases and it has 12 lunar months in a year of 354 days. Because this lunar year is 11 days shorter than the solar year, Islamic holy days, though celebrated on fixed dates in their own calendar, usually shift 11 days earlier each solar successive year._
> 
> _Therefore this year's Hajj took place from June 23_ _rd_ _until June 27_ _th_.
> 
> _Since only Muslims are allowed to enter Mecca and take part in the Hajj, I had to change my disguise from a Norwegian explorer to a Muslim pilgrim. After having applied some full body make up and the costume of a wandering salesman, I joined a group of the travellers from Bushehr._
> 
> _During the long journey through the Persian Gulf, the Arabic Sea and then the Red Sea, I relied completely on my knowledge of the Arabic language._
> 
> _Because of problems with the rudder the sailing ship reached the Arabic coast several days too late to be on time for the Hajj. My fellow travellers were naturally disappointed, for it is recommended that the Hajj is celebrated during the above mentioned date, but they were in agreement to proceed with their pilgrimage as planed._
> 
> _Due to the lateness of the ship and because I had a scheduled meeting with one of my brother's a_ _gents in Cairo, I had to leave Mecca within two days of my arrival.So I was only able to perform the Umrah, or lesser pilgrimage, which takes hours to perform instead of days._
> 
> _The town of Mecca still showed some signs of the latest_ _annual pilgrimage. Numerous camps made of white tents for the participating pilgrims covered the land on both sides of the main road that leads to the mosque containing the Kaaba._
> 
> _Before one is allowed to perform the rites of the Umrah or Hajj, one has to be in a state of Ihram, which is a state of purity and holiness, the word is also used to denote the garment worn by the pilgrims that are in this state of holiness.There are certain restrictions to be obeyed when one is in Ihram, like to keep one's head uncovered at all times, not to shave, cut one's hair or clip one's nails and various others._
> 
> _First of all, we donned a garment made of two sheets of white unhemmed cloth, with the top draped over the torso and the bottom secured by a white sash, plus a pair of plain sandals. This uniform of clothing represents the equality of pilgrims before Allah._
> 
> _The rituals of the Umrah re-enact scenes from the lives of Ibrahim and his wife Hajarah._
> 
> _It is believed that Allah ordered the prophet Ibrahim to abandon his wife and his infant son, Ismail, in the desert. During his absence the child became thirsty and his mother ran back and forth seven times between the hills of Safa and Marwah in search of water. The Angel Gabriel touched the earth with the tip of his wing and a well sprang forth, this source of water is called the Well of Zamzam; other sources say that Ismail himself stamped his foot on the ground and the water emerged, but I suppose that in any case, the end result was the same._
> 
> _After we had all finished the required preparations, our group made its way to the mosque, where the Kaaba stands. The "House of God" is a black stone cube presumably built by Ibrahim, in whose direction every Muslim carries out his daily sets of prayers._
> 
> _In order to fullfil the first ritual of Umrah, we had to circle the Kaaba seven times in a counter-clockwise direction. Because of the still high number of participants this ceremony took about a quarter of an hour to complete. I was surprised that the rather slow pace had no effect on the utter rapture I could observe on the faces of my fellow pilgrims, whose sparkling eyes and upward curled lips bespoke of their feelings. All of them were quite in awe of being so close to the holiest place in their religion and I must admit that I myself felt as if we shared a special bond which had been created by this singular experience._
> 
> _After leaving the mosque, the members of our large group could scatter a bit while rapidly walking seven times back and forth between the hills of Safa and Marwah, thereby re-enacting Hajarah's frantic search for water in order to save her son from dying of thirst.This ritual is known as performing a "sa'i"._
> 
> _The last part of the Umrah consists of either a complete shave of the head or a partial shortening of hair. Since I cannot afford to change my outer appearance too drastically I opted for the latter and thankfully I was not the only one who did, otherwise I might have drawn attention to myself._
> 
> _After the conclusion of Umrah, most of my fellow pilgrims chose to drink from the Well of Zamzam, which was revealed to Hajarah by the Angel Gabriel and saved her infant son's life._
> 
> _Today the Well of Zamzam is housed within the court of the mosque in Mecca, right beside the Kaaba._
> 
> _After the completion of this last ritual, I am now preparing to leave Mecca for Egypt._
> 
> _I shall remember this experience for the rest of my life, for it showed me not only the power of religious belief, but also that it is indeed possible for people from different backgrounds to assemble peacefully and with dignity in sharing this important aspect of their lives._
> 
> _It also provided me with the opportunity to acquaint myself again with a large crowd after spending two years in almost solitude during my stay in Tibet._
> 
> _I am indeed glad to be on the move again for it provides my ever-working brain with enough stimulants to hold my interest._
> 
> _I do not know as of yet where I will be heading to next, but I hope to be able to write to you again soon._
> 
> _Yours most sincerely,_
> 
> _Sherlock Holmes_

I laid the letter on the bedside table and looked over at my friend who was sleeping peacefully, his usually animated features completely relaxed. Carefully I removed the compress and instead laid my hand on his forehead. I found the skin to be cooler than earlier but still too warm as to be normal.Therefore I replaced my hand with a compress and proceeded to check his other vital signs. His pulse was strong and regular beneath my fingertips and his breathing caused his chest to rise and fall rhythmically. Another look at the wound revealed only the clean teeth marks which I yet again treated with disinfectant causing my friend to stir slightly because of the antiseptic's stinging nature before re-dressing the arm. I was fairly certain that Holmes would not suffer any ill effects from the supposedly rabid dog's attack or the following treatment.

All the while I tried to imagine Holmes as a Muslim pilgrim in the midst of the crowds in Mecca, clad only in two pieces of plain fabric, praying along with all the other worshippers.

I knew from first hand experience my friend's skill at disguising himself so as to be completely unrecognizable from his usual appearance and I was fairly certain that he had been diligently preparing his role as a pilgrim.

With my curiosity fuelled by the contents of the letters I had already read, I reached impatiently for the next missive.

>   
>  _Khartoum, August 8th, 1893_
> 
> _My dear Watson,_
> 
> _After crossing the Red Sea and a short stay in Egypt where new instructions from my brother awaited me, my travels finally led me into the biggest land of the African Continent._
> 
> _I am sure you are aware of the current unstable situation in Sudan and thus the preparations that are undertaken by the British Empire, among other European countries, to re-establish its control over this vast land which has fallen under the reign of the Mahdi back in 1885._
> 
> _I am afraid due to the highly secret nature of my mission I cannot divulge any details about my actions as of yet._
> 
> _Perhaps in a few years time, when my pledge of secrecy has become irrelevant, I may give you a full account of my doings._
> 
> _But there is one experience I wish to share with you, if only to put it into words and thereby hopefully unburden my mind of the images my torturous imagination has been conjuring up, no matter how emphatically my attempts to suppress them are._
> 
> _When I entered the Palace in order to meet with the Khalifa, who is the Mahdi's successor, I had not the slightest inkling that I would set my eyes on the remaining traces of General Gordon's ghastly murder that had happened more than eight years previously. I was genuinely taken aback to still find his dried blood on the stairs where he had met his end. It is one thing to read about the event, but to actually see the very spot where the abominable deed had taken place sent shivers down my spine and my mind into a rampage of creating the most vivid images. I was obliged to redirect my thoughts in order to be able to fulfil the task I had been given._
> 
> _I know of your high regard for the general and I hope my account does not cause you any additional distress for I remember with clarity the strength of your reaction to the news of his death and the subsequent events._
> 
> _I hold some hope that as soon as my business here is finished I may consider my return to Europe for I must admit that after more than two years I start to grow weary of these seemingly endless travels. On the other hand, Mycroft tells me that Colonel Moran is still at large and has now settled down in London, so that I fear my return to you must wait until I am able to ensure his arrest._
> 
> _Yours sincerely,_
> 
> _Sherlock Holmes_

Slowly I let the letter sink down onto my lap while my gaze was drawn once more to the still face of my sleeping friend, my chest slowly constricting with a feeling of sympathy for nightmares had been a constant companion to both of us since the beginning of our acquaintance.I wondered if the portrait of General Gordon that hung in our shared sitting room acted as a constant reminder for Holmes of experiences he would rather forget.

The striking of the clock on the landing jolted me out of my musings. I consulted my watch; it was two o'clock in the morning. The city outside our lodgings was quiet, safe but for the occasional footsteps of the police constable in the street.

I removed the compress from Holmes's forehead and re-checked his temperature. It was still slightly elevated, but in not such an extreme as to cause concern. After discarding the used water from the basin and leaving the moist washcloth on the rack to dry, I sat down again and took the second to last letter from the file.


	5. Montpellier Or: A Letter Of Condolence

>   
>  _Montpellier, November 19 th, 1893_
> 
> _My dearest Watson,_  
> 
> 
> _I am so very sorry…_

My breath hitched and I had to stop reading when my brain finally registered the date on which this missive had been written – two weeks to the day of my Mary's death.

So Holmes had known about her passing nearly immediately and yet he had not deemed it necessary to let me know that at least he was still among the living.

After a steadying deep breath, I managed to restrain the intense reaction at my emotional wound at that realization, for I wanted to know what else my friend had to say for himself.

> _My dearest Watson,_
> 
> _I am so very sorry for your loss._
> 
> _Mycroft's telegram bearing the news of your wife's unexpected death has just reached me._
> 
> _I cannot even begin to imagine how you must feel, not only thinking your best friend dead these long years, but now also robbed of your beloved wife by a cruel twist of fate._
> 
> _I am well aware that my usual attitude towards women could be described as indifferent and cautious and I will not deny that feelings of love and affection for the fairer sex are alien to me, but I well remember how happy you were, when you told me that Miss Morstan had agreed to become your wife._
> 
> _My dearest friend, how much I wish I could be there for you in your hour of need, but the message, though dispatched immediately by brother mine, was delayed and reached me too late or for else I certainly would have been by your side at the funeral._
> 
> _I owe you a thousand apologies for this inexcusable behaviour you unknowingly suffer at my hands and I can only pray that you will find it in your noble heart to forgive this transgression which I hope to reveal to you soon.I promise by all that I hold dear that I shall make it up to you in time, if you will still have me as your friend._
> 
> _As you may have noticed by the heading of the letter, my travels have finally led me back to Europe. Under the guise of a chemist I am working on the analysis of coal-tar and its derivatives.The work is interesting and provides me with a temporary distraction from my problems, but now that I know of your sad bereavement, it is even harder for me to stay away from England._
> 
> _How tired I have grown of this cat and mouse game I am forced to play, this deception!_
> 
> _I long to come home to the simple things, to share a glass of brandy before the fire with you in the chair opposite me. Yet I know it is not possible as long as Colonel Moran is at large and seeking revenge for his Master's demise at my hands._
> 
> _My return to London at this point in time would endanger you and everything else I hold dear. I could never forgive myself if anything were to happen to you because I was unable to control myself in my longing to see you again._
> 
> _Please believe me, when I say, that, had it been in my power, I would never have left you behind at the Reichenbach Falls, uncertain of my survival._
> 
> _Once more I can only pray that you will understand the reasons for my actions and forgive me, when we are at last reunited._
> 
> _I remain yours faithfully,_
> 
> _Sherlock Holmes_

I felt unbidden tears burn at the back of my eyes which demanded most forcefully to be released and finally, no matter how much I fought it, their wish was granted and with a half-choked sob escaping from my throat, the first of many liquid witnesses to my grief ran down my cheek to land with a small splash onto the piece of paper still held in my hand, obliterating part of Holmes's writing. The letter shook and crumpled as my fingers flexed convulsively, eventually it fell to the floor, when I hid my face in my hands.

I could feel the imaginary walls collapse which I had so carefully constructed around the painful memories of Mary's death and the time following it, feelings of despair and loneliness embracing me in their steely grip.

I do not know how long my muffled cries filled the stillness of the bedroom, but I was certain they would have woken my friend at some point, yet I found Holmes to still be sleeping soundly, when I at last had the strength to bring my emotions back under control. This proved to me that he was thoroughly exhausted, for usually the detective had a light sleep.

As I wiped away the remaining tears and blew my nose, images of my wife's funeral came back to life in front of my mind's eye and I clearly remembered the stoical figure of the elder Holmes brother clad in mourning attending the ceremony.

After Mary's coffin had been lowered into the ground, he shook my hand and uttered some words of condolence which I was no longer able to recall. Then he had left to return to his Whitehall office.

Why had he not told me that my friend was alive? Had he not realized what it would have meant for me to know that at least one of the people I had thought lost, was in reality still walking this earth?

These thoughts only provided more fuel to my re-awakened self-doubts; for why should Mycroft Holmes trust me with his brother's greatest secret when Holmes himself had deemed me incapable of keeping it in the first place?

In my agitation I sprang to my feet and left the sleeping figure of my friend behind in order to pace in the sitting room before the cold fireplace. My mind was a whirlwind of emotions I was not sure I could disentangle.

The question _"Why?"_ reverberated dully inside my head.

_Why_ _could Holmes not tell me at once that he had survived?_

_Why could Holmes not trust me to keep his secret?_

_Why_ _did Mycroft Holmes not give me the merest hint that my friend was still alive?_

_Why was I still Holmes's friend?_

I resumed my restless marching for nearly two hours, but I did not find any satisfactory answers and eventually collapsed exhausted into my chair, rubbing my now throbbing leg.

The first rays of dawn found their way through the blinds while I was trying to decide how to proceed. There was still one letter left in Holmes's file. After taking a steadying deep breath, I slowly made my way back to my friend's bedside.


	6. Homecoming

>   
>  _On the way to London, April 3rd, 1894_  
> 
> 
> _My dear Watson,_
> 
> _At_ _last the day for my return to life has come._
> 
> _I was already preparing to leave France, when a telegram from Mycroft reached me and the news of the unusual circumstances of the Adair murder hurried my departure._
> 
> _Finally I have found the means to ensure Colonel Moran's arrest and therefore our safety. It took only one small slip from him and now the trap will shortly be in place._
> 
> _I cannot begin to describe the feelings of elation and excitement I am experiencing at the moment. At long last, after three years of wandering, I will set foot on London pavement again._
> 
> _Soon, I shall see you, my dear fellow. I fervently hope and pray you will forgive me this long deception._
> 
> _The ferry is about to arrive at Dover at any minute now and from there I shall take the Continental Express to Victoria Station. And yet it is not the thought of seeing London again that occupies my mind but the upcoming reunion with you._
> 
> _Yours_ _faithfully,_
> 
> _Sherlock Holmes_

When I looked up from the message heralding my friend's return to London and my life, I found Holmes awake and looking at me with a scrutinizing gaze. Dark shadows were still clinging to the patches of skin below his eyes, but the grey orbs were clear and alert.

"I see that you have at last read them." he stated in a slightly hoarse voice.

Then he fell silent, awaiting my response to his deduction. At first, I did not know what to say. My thoughts were in turmoil after the emotional upheaval I had experienced in the hours previously. Eventually my self-doubts gained the upper hand manifesting themselves in my answer,

"Why could you not tell me...Why could you not trust me? Why are you never able to trust me?" I asked in a hushed voice, not looking at my friend.

"I DO trust you, Watson, but it was impossible; the dangers were too great…the stakes were too high…you have no idea…I could not risk your life…you had a wife to come home to…" Holmes replied quite vehemently.

"You have a strange way of showing that you trust me. You are supposed to be my friend and yet you know nothing of my feelings…I need some time alone."

All of a sudden I felt emotionally and physically drained and I could not stand to be in the same room with Holmes any longer, so I fairly bolted from his bedside, grabbed my coat from the stand and left for my club.

When I returned in the afternoon, I found the house empty. A note pinned to the mantelpiece by Holmes's jack-knife read,

_**Gone to the Diogenes Club. Will return later tonight.** _

_**SH** _

I lighted a fire and poured myself a glass of brandy, wanting to relax before turning in a bit earlier than usual due to my staying up all of the previous night. As I approached my customary armchair before the hearth, I saw an envelope lying on the seat, simply addressed "Watson".

Curiously I took it up, sat down and opened it. I found a single sheet of paper, covered once more in the familiar handwriting of my friend.

> _My dearest Watson,_
> 
> _You left only a moment ago, presumably heading to your club and I have taken up my pen to write to you the last instalment in this series of letters which I have started such a long time ago._
> 
> _I do so that hopefully my writing might better explain the reasons behind my actions when my words of earlier obviously could not._
> 
> _You must believe me, when I say that I have regretted my decision to let you think me dead every single minute after I heard your frantic cries. I must admit that I find myself in the curious state of mind where I actually wish I could turn back time and act differently. Yet, at the same time I also know that I would have behaved exactly as I did over again for I hold your safety in the highest esteem._
> 
> _I cannot promise_ _to never delude you again in the future and I think you have known me long enough to accept that. There is no more I can ask of you, but know that I truly would be lost without my Boswell, if you were to decide to not forgive my transgression._
> 
> _Yours very sincerely,_
> 
> _Sherlock Holmes_

I would not get anything closer to an apology from Holmes and I was well aware of it. If I was perfectly honest with myself, I would rather have Holmes as a friend knowing that he would occasionally mislead me, than to have to do without his company altogether.

The time had come for me to take up the pen and put my thoughts into words.

> _My dear Holmes,_
> 
> _I understand your_ _need for secrecy but I doubt you can scarcely begin to imagine the feelings of shock, sadness and most of all guilt I have experienced in the time following what I have believed to be your death._
> 
> _But now that you are back in my life, I would indeed be a fool, if I were to abandon you, for I could hardly bear to loose you a second time._
> 
> _So, I DO forgive you the deception._
> 
> _However I also want you to know that I still do not and shall never agree with your conviction that you are somehow obligated to protect me. I also think you are aware considering both our tempers that any future behaviour of yours in that mind frame will inevitably lead to quarrels between us._
> 
> _As long as you can live with that possibility, then so can I._
> 
> _Yours very sincerely,_
> 
> _John Watson_

After addressing the letter, I laid it on the seat of Holmes's armchair, before fairly collapsing back into my own chair. My leg throbbed more insistently because of the strain of the previous day. I fetched a pain reliever from my bag and mixed it into a glass of water. After draining the contents, I leaned back to let it take effect. Soon, the warmth of the fire lulled me into sleep.

When I awoke, I found that I had been covered with a blanket and that the fire had been kindled back to life in the grate. I stretched my aching limbs and heard some pops from my now stiff joints.

A card lying on the table beside my chair caught my attention. On it was written just one word,

_Touché_

For the first time since Holmes and I had set out together on our latest case, I felt my lips curve into a genuine smile. Perhaps I could now at last lay the ghosts of the past to rest and begin to build a new life with my friend at my side.


End file.
